


The fire that breaks from thee then, a billion times told lovelier,

by Kt_fairy



Series: let the river rush in [4]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Comfort, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, PWP, Post-Canon Fix-It, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 17:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21001775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kt_fairy/pseuds/Kt_fairy
Summary: “Are you still in the bath?”“What do you meanstill? This is a perfectly normal amount of time to spend marinating in bath water, I’ll have you know.”Francis ignored that, too busy laughing to himself at the sight of James folded into the slightly too small copper bathtub set before the fire. His feet were pressed against the side so his knees were up in the air, his arms wrapped around them and his soaked hair pushed back in disarray, all combining to give him the appearance of a freshly scrubbed child. An observation that Francis took great pleasure in telling him.





	The fire that breaks from thee then, a billion times told lovelier,

**Author's Note:**

> I found this in my WIP's, it's a scene that I never ended up using in a fic and I don't hate it, so I've tidied it up and here we be
> 
> Set before the Main Plot Line of the first fic in this series, and after the flash back bits. You don't need to have read it for this to make sense but don't let that stop you ;P

James' bedroom, Elizabeth Conningham had informed Francis during their short acquaintance before the smog filled February air had driven the Conningham's to Brighton, had been kept almost exactly as he had left it when he departed for Greenhithe. It was set towards the back of the elegant Regent's Park townhouse and tended towards a lack of daylight, but it kept a pleasant temperature, and was as sparse and neat as any naval man’s home on land. 

That being said, James certainly made better use of his draws than Francis had ever needed to; every one full with neatly pressed clothes that were not all as abominably stylish as Francis had feared they might be. Some were well worn and well loved, kept out of the same sentiment as the beautifully home stitched and slightly frayed quilt that was always upon James' bed, but there were also a few like the alarmingly orange silk dressing gown (“Its _apricot_,” James had declared once. "Stop being a charry old bird!”) that Francis almost trod on when he wandered into James’ room one endless Thursday afternoon. 

“Are you still in the bath?”

“What do you mean _ still _? This is a perfectly normal amount of time to spend marinating in bath water, I’ll have you know.”

Francis ignored that, too busy laughing to himself at the sight of James folded into the slightly too small copper bathtub set before the fire. His feet were pressed against the side so his knees were up in the air, his arms wrapped around them and his soaked hair pushed back in disarray, all combining to give him the appearance of a freshly scrubbed child. An observation that Francis took great pleasure in telling him.

"Then I am finally clean enough to be on deck," James grinned, "How was your walk?"

"Pleasant enough. I made it to Westminster Pier and back."

"My dear fellow, do take a seat! How taxing for you to have to pass that den of vipers in Parliament," James grimaced, stretching out his bad leg so it hung heavily over the side of the tub. "My brother excluded of course."

"Gold amongst brass," Francis agreed, taking the chair from James' dressing table and dropping it by the bath. "Does your leg trouble you today?"

"No more than it tends to," James muttered, not sounding overly convincingly, and sighed Francis held out his hands.

"Give it over here, then."

"What? Oh come now. You'll get your trousers wet for a start."

"If that is of genuine concern maybe I should not have let you talk me into using your tailor," Francis said sagely and James pulled a face at him that did nothing to lessen the childishness of his current appearance. "I have dealt with worse than a wet leg for your sake."

"I know," James said softly, sinking down into the opaque water so Francis could rest his ankle across his lap. "Go on then, rub at my old wounds like I'm a venerable admiral and you my steward."

Francis shook his head as he ran his fingers down James' shin, feeling for the notch on the bone where the break had occurred nearly thirteen years ago. "Men who become venerable rarely take visitors while they bathe."

"So they would like you to believe," James pointed out dryly, letting his head drop back against the side of the tub with a sigh. 

Francis smoothed his hand down to James' ankle, adjusting his foot ever so slightly so his heel was no longer digging into his thigh before pressing his fingers into the tense muscle in James' calf, watching carefully for any discomforts passing across his face.

“Besides,” James said softly, drawing Francis’ attention from the mindless task and down to the rakish smile on his face. “You are hardly a visitor, Francis,” he said with a wink, laughing when Francis rolled his eyes at him. 

“And that was hardly an innuendo.”

“All things are innuendo when a fellow is in the bath,” James observed, the water tinkling as he let his long arms lay along the edges of the tub. He pulled a face when Francis dug his thumb into a particularly hard knot of muscle, then sighed hugely. “I feel like this should have more of a tension to it than it does.”

“What does?”

“This. You tending to my leg while I bathe in the middle of the day.”

“Oh yes. A sore leg. The height of erotic tension.”

“I’d thank you to compliment the oft spoken of well turned calf you’re currently fondling.”

“When you’re in the bath? That’d be awfully forward of me.”

James made to laugh, but the loud crack of a log breaking in the fire and then tumbling towards the grate had them both flinching. Francis loosened his grip on James' leg and he drew it back, water sloshing as he pulled his knees up to his chest. Francis watched James give a violent shiver as his expression became distant, his eyes reflecting the firelight as if they were mirrors.

"James," he said softly, and when he got no reply Francis reached out for his hand that was gripping the side of the tub desperately. "Fitzjames," he tried again, letting his tone be coloured by that of command, and James turned to blink up at him first dully, and then rapidly.

"It was…" he started, then shook his head. "Dam it all."

"It's all right."

"Given a fright by a bloody fire," James muttered darkly under his breath, flailing out a hand for one of the bath sheets warming by the fire. “Give me one of those, would you?”

Francis did as he was asked, wrapping it around James before helping him step out of the bath. He piled another sheet around his shoulders when James shivered despite the pleasant temperature of the room, rubbing at his arms to warm him as he ducked his head to try and catch James' averted gaze.

His earlier cheeky mood had been stripped away, and in its place was every exhaustion and agony he had suffered laid plain on his face. He met Francis' eyes then looked away sharply, taking the corner of the bath sheet laid about his shoulders and began scrubbing at his hair.

"I should allow myself some of the understanding and sympathy I have shown others, I know, but it's not so easy as all that. Not that I need to tell you this, I am sure."

“You do not, but I shan’t prevent you from speaking.”

“That’s all there is to say really,” James huffed, letting the sheet drop from his hair before finger combing it into some semblance of order. “I would fault no-one for being effected by what happened, yet I suppose the expectations on captains is such that we - that we cannot allow it to be seen.”

“I have found -” Francis said as he went to retrieve James’ frightful dressing gown and helped him slip it on, “- that a captain cannot allow it, but a man might let his friend see and help him.”

James gave Francis a small smile, turning to drop down heavily onto the end of his bed. “It’s all so close. So much - don’t hover Francis. Sit down.”

“Yes sir,” Francis grinned, letting his shoulder brush against James’ as he sat beside him.

James bumped him back almost bashfully, picking at a lose thread in the well worn dressing gown. “I thought on fire for a good while after Carnivale, as you know. It...it took a hold of me rather, for a time, until the more pressing matter of mutiny and my own mortality took obvious presidence.” James pulled on the thread causing the fabric to bunch and Francis reached out to stop him. James flinched when he caught his restless fingers, but before Francis could pull his hand away James pressed his palm between both of his. “Now there is nothing to fear - except the newspapers and invites from Buckingham Palace - sometimes I find myself fearing things simply because I am used to being afraid. A weakness that cannot be helped, after everything.”

"There is nothing weak about you, James,” Francis said at once. “Do you know that when Ross and I came from the Antarctic to Hobart for the last time, men wept to be finally in still waters again. Hell, I almost wept to be on a calm ocean once more, and to not have the scream of a gale constantly in my ears.. .And when - when Sir.John invited Ross and myself to dinner we had such a case of the shakes that we could hardly eat,” Francis spoke quietly, rubbing his fingers over the patch of puckered silk to try and smooth it flat again. “What I say is that there is no weakness in these things leaving their mark on you. It is no sign of manliness to not be affected, just as it is not a failing to carry it about with you. It all depends on how one bares up under it - which I did not do very well, I know."

James made a noise of protest, and poked Francis firmly on the chest. “You pulled _yourself_ from those depths. Were you dragged to it kicking and screaming? Almost. But you did it before drastic action had to be taken.”

“Would you have relieved me of command?”

“Shall you be angry if I say yes?”

Francis shook his head. “No. I would have been as furious as the devil at the time, but no. It would have been the correct thing to do,” he considered the carpet a moment, turning to face James and letting their knees brush. “In fact, it could be said that if you had done so earlier we might have had a lot less grief.”

“I think the more we tried to escape grief the faster it came on. And when all was grief, it finally let us go." The fire cracked and popped again and James pressed his thumbs into the back of Francis’ hand hard enough to hurt. “Blasted thing. Oh don’t look so amused! My heart is beating out a Polka, feel it,” he spoke rapidly, raising Francis’ hand to his chest. 

Francis watched as James parted his dressing gown to rest Francis’ hand against his bare chest. They both jolted at the realisation of what he had done, but James did not pull away and Francis did not take his hand back. 

There had been no desire for more than companionship and affection between them since their return home. Indeed, since before they had left the ships, their duty to the men and James’ ill health dampening every spark of useless passion any man might feel. They had shared kisses, and letters full of emotion while Francis had spent two months keeping a very understanding James and Anne Ross awake with his nightmares, but intimate desire came with the good health of the mind and body, and the road to that had been slow and laboured. 

They were not fully themselves now, in fact they might never be, but Francis was very aware of the tension between them that only minutes prior had been commented on for its total absence. Of how thick and easy it was, familiar and yet brand new, spurned on by the depth of emotion between them and not the desires of men existing in the shadow of death. 

James' heart was beating fast against Francis' palm, but it was strong and steady, not like the stuttering, fluttering pulse Francis had searched out on James’ fragile wrists when they had been walking. James had been all bones then, they all had, his skin fragile and dry like old paper, and it was almost a surprise to feel how warm and soft and robust he now was.

He had seen James' shoulders and chest many times, in sick tents and close quarters and while James lounged about in the bath, but he had never touched him like this before. Nor had he ever thought to admire the gentle curve of his collar bone, and as his fingers were so close Francis allowed himself the indulgence of tracing the shape of it. 

“Oh,” James breathed deeply, and Francis pushed his hand further into the dressing gown to mould it to the slope of his shoulder, thumb tracing the bob of his surprisingly delicate throat.

James adjusted slightly, changing the angle of his head to bare more of this skin to Francis’ touch. He hesitated, feeling his face heat as he met James’ deep, dark eyes, and was careful to keep his grip light as he cupped James’ neck. “I should not be taking this liberty when I should be offering you comfort.”

James smiled slowly and pressed his hand to Francis’ thigh. "It is not a liberty,” he murmured, “Or rather, one I don’t mind you taking,” he turned his head to catch the side of Francis’ thumb with his lips before pressing close to kiss him firmly, swallowing down the gasp Francis let out and chasing it with more kisses that were far more forceful than any Francis could remember them sharing. James pushed in close, looping his arms around Francis and running his hands over his back and up into his hair, taking the hand Francis still had cupping his neck and slipping it inside his dressing down to touch his waist.

After so many years of only the most perfunctory or chaste of intimacies it was a little overwhelming for Francis to have James all over him in such a state of undress, touching him and demanding his touch in return. It made him feel almost as un-moored as when he had been shoved into a room with a doxy as a boy and told to enjoy himself, and he paused, pulling away just enough so that he could breathe freely.

“Francis?” James spoke softly, thumb brushing gently over his cheek. “Is all well?”

“Yes. It’s nothing.”

“At the risk of ruffling masculine feathers, might enquire as to if I am being too forward?”

“No. No, I am simply…” Francis sighed and shook his head, moulding his hand to James’ waist. “Gathering myself?”

“I only ask because some might not wish to bring their _ habits _ to Regents Park?”

Francis chuckled, vaguely aware that was alluding to something he had most likely said while hiding in the bottom of a whiskey bottle. “I fear some habits might end up wherever you might be, James.”

“Oh,” James breathed, his ears going a charming shade of pink as his suddenly flighty hands ran over the shoulders of Francis’ coat and down his chest to rest on the buttons of his waistcoat. “Might you…?”

James smoothed his hands over Francis’ shoulders when his coat was off, helping to divest him of his cravat and waistcoat and slip his braces down his arms. He attempted to get Francis out of his shirt also but he demurred, not wishing to subject himself to having his freckled, aged and blunt body surveyed by someone as finely made as James. The matter was not pressed, nor did James try to coax Francis out of his shirt, just darted in to kiss the corner of his mouth and moved to the buttons on his trousers, watching Francis intently when he stood to step out of them. There was nothing particularly worth staring at about his not so shapely legs, and Francis almost pulled at the hem of his shirt to try and cover more of himself before deciding that was silly and instead sat back down next to James who immediately half crawled into his lap to pepper his mouth with kisses.

Francis grabbed James’ to steady them both as fingers threaded into his hair, tipping his head back so James could kiss him soundly, tongue licking softly into his mouth. Francis started in surprise at the action but did not pull away, instead letting James lead the kiss where he pleased as Francis ran his hands over James; enjoying the sharp strength of him beneath the lush softness of his ridiculous dressing gown and the firmness of his shapely backside, letting his hand rest there when James smiled against his lips.

“I am in your lap in naught but a dressing gown,” James whispered when they pulled apart for air. “You need not be so cautious.”

“I am not a rogue,” Francis replied a little dumbly, meeting the burning intent of James' dark eyed gaze with a smile. It brought a matching smile from James immediately, something in him softening as he trailed his fingers down the open neck of Francis' shirt to touch the centre of his chest. He fiddled with the shirt buttons, opening a few more, then ducked his head to press soft kisses along Francis' jaw. 

Francis sighed, brushing his cheek against the softness of James' hair while his hands found their way back into James’ dressing gown. James nipped at his neck when Francis squeezed the muscle in his thigh, laying a sucking kiss just high enough to be covered by a collar when Francis grasped his hip and ran his thumb over the sharp line of his hip bone.

James sat up then, setting his knees further apart so he could shift forward to press their groins together with a roll of his hips. His dressing gown had almost fallen fully open now, and Francis could feel the heaviness of his prick slide against his own through the thin material of his shirt. The heat and the softness of James' inner thighs shifting against his own so wonderfully sensuous and sordid it made Francis gasp.

Not the sort of sordid that shames, rather one that excites, and Francis pulled James into another kiss, palming at his bare arse when James rocked his hips down hard against Francis, sliding their pricks together in a clumsy sort of neediness.

"Francis,” he breathed, gasping when Francis kissed at the hinge of his jaw. "I am going to ask you something that might shock and appal you.”

Francis swallowed, suspecting what it could be, and nodded for James to continue.

“Would you have me?”

Francis wanted to swear, wanted to throw James onto the bed and take him, wanted to protest, but instead he brushed their lips together in a soft kiss and whispered, “I would not know how to, and I do not wish to hurt you.”

“Dear man,” James kissed his cheek, his temple, his neck. “You could not hurt me, I know that to be true. And as for the other, your part is not so different from love making to a woman, which I am sure you have indulged in before.”

"My part?"

A faint flush spread over James' cheeks. "Well, mine wouldn't be."

Francis decided silence was more noble than admitting further ignorance, and let James do what he needed to without further comment. Although from the way James smiled he was sure he must have shown some surprise when James spread some unguent he had produced from his pocket over his long fingers and then reached behind himself.

“Preparedness in all things is the sign of a truly fine officer,” James advised in an exaggerated voice, and Francis felt all nervousness disappear as he tipped his head back and laughed.

From then things progressed slowly and then all at once, and soon Francis found himself folding James’ old quilt out of the way as he man went to retrieve a bath sheet to lay upon the bed, a necessity that had them both blushing and then laughing. 

“I am going to take my dressing gown off now,” James informed him. “But I fear I can do it in no way that does not look like I am playing at being a flashy Eastern courtesan.”

“I wouldn’t know what one looked like,” Francis admitted, and James grinned. 

“Something like this,” he winked, letting the garment slip slowly off his pale, sloping shoulders and down his strong arms before chucking it aside with a theatrical flourish, hip cocked and chin dropped coyly.

He had seen James naked before - hell, he had just helped him from the bath - but there was a self consciousness about him that had not been there before, as if he thought that a lack of softness about his stomach and ribs or the still angry scars on his too pale skin could made him any less desirable than he was. (That James might fear his brash nakedness would shatter any illusion Francis might have about him being very much a man did not cross Francis’ mind. He had never needed to build an illusion to allow himself to want James. He simply did).

Any awkwardness on James’ part could not stand of course, and Francis took him in his arms to kiss him before dumping him back on the bed, scrambling to shove off his linens before climbing on after him. James reached for him immediately, drawing Francis in until he was settled between the soft flesh of his lean thighs, their groins brushing together when Francis leant down to kiss him.

“Go slowly until I tell you,” James whispered against his cheek, pulling Francis’ shirt up and out of the way as he hitched his legs up to tuck his knee’s against Francis’ ribs.

He did as he was told, not that he could do anything else when, after a nervous slip or two, he pressed his cock into the snug heat of James’ body. It was like nothing he had ever felt in his admittedly limited experience - _ James _ was like nothing he had experienced before. He _ wanted _so honestly, without restraint or bashfulness; he dug his heels into Francis’ backside and encouraged him deeper, he slanted kisses along Francis’ cheek and down his neck as he grasped at Francis' shoulders and arms, sighing beautifully every time Francis pushed into him. 

It was no picturesque thing, the bed creaked and they grunted indelicately, Francis having to brace his hands on either side of James’ head so he could bugger him as firmly as he seemed to want. Francis knew his complexion had become blotchy and ruddy from pleasure and effort, a sight that could certainly not be as pleasant as James’ dark lashes brushing his flushed cheekbone and he threw his head back and let out deep, purring moan.

“Oh _ God Francis,” _ he gasped loudly, turning his head to press his lips against Francis’ wrist to stifle his sudden volume. “_Th - _ Oh! _ ” _

Francis ducked his head to kiss James’ neck, letting his fingers bump over the still pronounced ridges of James’ ribs on the way to grope at the soft flesh of his thigh, hitching his legs higher as James canted his hips to push back into the rock of Francis’ hips.

“Franc -,” he hiccuped. “Christ _ \- _oh_ shit. Oh_ **fuck**!”

He had never heard James curse so vehemently before and Francis found himself enamoured by it, wanting to be the cause of more foul things slipping through his cracked composure and out of that polite English mouth.

The chase, for it became one once James realised his purpose and made him work for every filthy word, was as energetic as any sailors boast. Francis was careful with him though, aware of the still tender wounds on his back and side, putting his effort into working James with long, firm thrusts as he ducked his head to kiss from his cheek all the way down his chest to lave at a brown, peaked nipple. 

James was swearing vehemently now and without thought as he frigged himself hard and fast, hand knocking against Francis’ stomach with a frantic rapidity a he pressed his heels into Francis’ ribs. He was not quite bucking and writhing in ecstasies, but he was becoming noisy, and Francis only just managed to cover James’ mouth before he let go with a long, loud hitching moan. 

“_Keep going,_” James gasped as he pulled Francis’ hand from his mouth, an encouragement that was not needed. The clench of James’ body, the kisses he was laying over Francis’ fingers, and the obviousness of his pleasure had Francis spilling, their coupling taking on a slick, wet sound that would have mortified Francis if James had not surged up to kiss him.

Francis stayed knelt over James for as long as his knees could take, loathe to extract himself from James’ heat and the tangle of his long limbs, or to pull away from the lazy kisses they shared.

James shifted uncomfortably when Francis finally let his softened prick slip from him, as was all grasping hands and complaints when Francis sat up. He did manage to lay still when Francis reached out to touch him, tracing a nonsense path from the base of James' throat and down over his heaving chest, taking in the flushed dishevelment of his thoroughly bedded state and wondering at how lovely he managed to look when he had his own essence smattered over his stomach.

"You're beautiful," Francis heard himself saying, and James flushed even as a shiver ran through him.

Francis reached across him for the edge of the blankets and pulled them over him, making a show of tucking it around James until he laughed.

He settled next to James on the rumpled bed, expecting James to curl against him or take his hand or any of the things Sophia used to do. Instead James pushed himself up onto his elbow so he could gaze down at Francis in return, such a look of softness on his face that it was almost unbearable. He pushed Francis’ hair from his forehead, brushing his fingertips down the side of Francis' face before turning his attention his shirt that had almost come fully undone during their romp and had slipped off of one of Francis' shoulders.

"Oh," James stated. "You have freckles."

Francis glanced down at the splatters of colour that had always covered his chest and shoulders, and tried to tug his rumpled shirt closed to cover them. “Pitfalls of being Irish,” he muttered, fearing he had sounded prickly when James frowned.

“What do you…Oh. No Francis. I don’t- I think they’re delightful.”

“Delightful?”

“Yes,” James shrugged.

“Oh.”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just...always thought they were rather nice addition. A delightful uniqueness. Characterful - lord, now I’m rambling nonsense.”

James made to pull his shirt closed for him, going still when Francis caught his hand. “You have not made me uncomfortable. Only, no-one has made any sort of complementary comment about them before.”

James got such a fierce look on his face that Francis thought he might demand names, but he quickly softened and leant right over Francis to look him in the eye. “Then I should warn you that I will compliment them whenever I see fit,” he declared archly, a glint in his eye. “And that I one day plan to kiss every one of them.”

“Fucking hell James,” Francis grumbled, turning his face away to hide his blush and to try and control the tidal swell of emotions that were threatening to bubble up out of his chest and overtake him entirely; happiness, love, contentment, and embarrassment at how fully he felt them, fearing he might break apart at the seams if James were to see. 

A kiss was pressed to his cheekbone, but when he did not turn to look at James no more followed. Instead the blankets were thrown more fully over him and James curled into his side, hand resting on Francis’ shoulder. “It was slow and stumbling to begin with, as you can imagine, but then I loved you suddenly and it did not rage or storm inside me, it was warm and gentle and...I shan’t be trite and say ‘like home’ because I hope to be above such things as triteness. And also because the Navy robs one of the concept of a thing like home,” James said, tracing the shoulder seam of Francis’ shirt. “I do not feel things as fiercely as I know you do, but I hope I feel as honestly, and I wish you to know I am not alarmed by the brightness of your emotions, nor scared by them. I think it should be rather nice to be loved fiercely and to love honestly in return.”

Francis was left at somewhat of a loss for what to do in reply to such frank and gentle words. Such lovely words that left him feeling stripped back to his bones but not raw or vulnerable, just warm, and known. And loved honestly, just like James had said.

He searched for James’ hand under the blankets, holding it tightly as he brought it up to press a lingering kiss the inside of his wrist before turning towards him. Francis did not know what the other man saw, could hardly bare to imagine what his face was doing, and found that he did not care when James smiled at him so softly.

“I was wrong,” James said with a content glint in his eye as he perched his chin on Francis’ shoulder. “It is _ wonderful _to love you like I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> So this is wholly self indulgent in many ways, including pro-freckle propaganda, but I had fun and I hope you did too.


End file.
